


The Night Moans Our Names

by silenceinmolasses



Category: Lost Souls - Poppy Z. Brite
Genre: Consensual, Feel-good, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Pre-Slash, Sexual Fantasy, UST, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 21:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silenceinmolasses/pseuds/silenceinmolasses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve wonders what’s inside of Ghost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Moans Our Names

Steve wants to bury his face and hands in Ghost’s translucent locks, perfectly understanding that his closest friend knows that. And yet that leg, hidden beneath ripped jeans and pressed against his own, doesn’t even flinch when Steve imagines kissing Ghost’s neck and slowly travelling down; black shirt unable to be at least as half as soft as porcelain skin. A tongue traces lines of fragile clavicles, dips into a salty shadow between bones, into that Eden’s hole.

Steve wonders how much of his musings is seen by that brilliant mind. Ghost still doesn’t react. Wait, he _does_ . Fairhead exhales through his closed mouth. What is he thinking? Well, (Steve grins a bit) they can be thinking the same thing. He looks more intently into his bottle of beer, fingers grasping dirty glass. He sees lean and pale arm with his own vice grip leaving pink petals on crystal muscles. He shouldn’t be so anxious because Ghost isn’t going anywhere and is looking at him; the weight of his gaze on Steve’s mouth is thick and familiar as molasses. Steve moves his hand, his long fingers link with others, slightly paler, sliding across his knuckles as cream. His long fingers play against Ghost’s belly. Lower. Lower. Slower.

Steve enjoys how his heart picks speed, missing several beats as Ghost’s leg persistently nudges his knees apart and slips in between. Fake light from a muted TV’s horror movie reflects across a bare foot and nails made from glass. So, that’s what it is. Ghost’s gift sucks burning wishes, the most secret desires gripping into each other; his mind swallows dust of the dead like wine. But now? Ghost needs sweat and knowledge and spit and beliefs and dirt under fingertips smeared across breathing flesh. Steve can give him all of this and more. Hell, of course, he can. The only one.

“You’re right,” Ghost puts both of his legs on Steve’s knees. Stretches, arms falling at his sides, the shirt rolling up and showing white, mouth-watering skin. Smiles, “about what we talked earlier this morning. Go to city for a day. Not as _Lost Souls?_ , just us. I want to go to the cinema.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. Then pushes deeper.

“Sure. Anything you want.”

Ghost just won’t snap, will he? What? He won’t press his lips against Steve’s open mouth, licking off the last drops of velvet beer? Won’t sit in his lap, lean legs completely useless, shoulders hunched and smiling lazily while Steve does what they both want?

“ _So_ nice,” Ghost finishes his bottle as bluish light camouflages the glass and playfully slips down the moving throat.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this fic :).


End file.
